The time passed quickly enough... perhaps a little too quickly... and Desmond soon found himself awkwardly staring out the passenger window. On the other side of him, his dad sat humming along with an old song from a 60s or 70s radio station. Rock music was just not Desmond's thing, to begin with. But rock music under these circumstances was a little more tiring, still. He sighed... and watched the people of New York putting up the Christmas decorations, instead... Had it really been that long, already?
Not that he was necessarily complaining. Holidays still held a reasonable amount of joy. Especially now, if he was going to stay reconnected to his friends at the bar. They never let Christmas go to waste... but they didn't celebrate it by getting hammered and smashing people;s windshields in, either. Desmond smirked when he remembered his first Christmas there. It had been something completely unexpected, sure... but not negative. And that was what counted to him.
He looked to the side at his humming father and though that if he was honest with himself, Christmas at the Farm hadn't been so bad, either...
Suddenly, William reached out and clicked the radio off. "Sorry about that. Shaun says you don't like rock music."
At first, this took Desmond completely by surprise. And all he could think to say was, "Shaun told you I don't like rock music?"
William chuckled. "He says you were possibly the only person more annoyed by Rebecca's 'tunes' than he was."
At this, Desmond chuckled. "He really DID pay pretty close attention..."
William seemed to pause... or perhaps, hesitate. "Well... I'm sure I would've figured it out eventually. You aren't THAT obscure, son."
It took a lot to keep Desmond from rolling his eyes. So, it was going to be -pick-inside-his-mind for the drive, then...
"I don't remember calling myself obscure."
"Well, no... I suppose you didn't CALL yourself obscure... But, you sure seem to try hard to convince everyone you are."
"Lucy used to call me 'aloof'," said Desmond. "I think it's a good description."
"Yes. She certainly thinks so, these days."
Desmond sat up, straightened. "Does she?" he asked, attention perked in spite of himself.
"We all do, Desmond. It's... a little worrying."
The elated rush came as quickly as it went, and Desmond slumped back over against the window. "Why's that?" he questioned, only because he knew he was going to hear the answer anyway.
"I can't speak for the others, I suppose – been one of my worst traits – but in mine and your mother's case, it's because you're our son."
"Dad... I like to be alone sometimes." Maybe not ALL the time, he added in his head, but sometimes...
William didn't respond right away, and Desmond thought it might have passed quicker than he thought it would.
But then, "How often is 'sometimes', exactly? I haven't seen you much these last couple of weeks. Or, most of the year, really..."
"I don't know," Desmond sighed. "I suppose, a lot."
"But don't you think it would be better for you... healthier, even... if you spent some time around others?"
"I used to live in this city, dad, remember? I know how to find company," he answered before he could stop himself.
William's eyes winced. "I see... And, this company is... reputable, I assume?"
"The company is nowhere near the Headquarters, don't worry."
"That wasn't what I meant. I just don't want you getting hurt."
"I can take care of myself, thanks."
William sighed, and refocused on the road. "I suppose you can, yes."
Desmond's heightened senses were acutely aware of his dad's body language. Even underneath the fabric of his clothing, Desmond could practically feel William's muscles rolling with tension.
He scratched his forehead and sat up again. "Look, I know you're worried – and I know mom's worried, too – but... I'm okay. As okay as it gets. It hasn't been a great life, you know? It probably just takes some time to get used to this again."
"Get used to what again, Desmond? Your mother and I showing concern? According to you, we never really did before."
Desmond regretted opening his mouth. "That's not what I meant, but I'd love to know what you mean by that."
"You know what I mean, son. We got the message a long time ago... Bordering on eleven years ago, when our only child ran from us into the wilderness in the middle of the night. We weren't the greatest parents. Okay, so we weren't very good parents. We did the best we could under extreme circumstances. How often must we apologize for it."
"I don't remember asking for any apologies, dad. I appreciate them, I really do. But my plan was to disappear entirely, if you want to know the truth. I screwed up, I got caught... shit happened. I can deal with that. But it doesn't mean the last twenty-six years just go away."
"Fair enough, but you ought to give us a chance."
"I'm still here, aren't I?!"
His father's expression made him regret it at once. William's eyebrows flashed up for the slightest of moments. His jawline hardened and his eyes glistened.
"I... suppose... that's true, too..."
Desmond took a deeper breath and rubbed his eye with his left hand. "Look, I'm sorry. I didn't mean it like that. I just–"
"–I understand, Desmond, I really do. If I could just ask you not to talk like that to your mother, I'd greatly appreciate it. She's happier to see you than she is to live another day. Please, don't ruin that for her."
His abrupt tone produced a gut reaction in Desmond. It was the tone he used to signify the end of a discussion. For a moment, Desmond felt seriously tempted to challenge that tone. But, they were in the car... and he really didn't want to talk about it anymore, anyway. So, he rolled his eyes and went back to staring outside.
He didn't know if he felt sorry for it or not... but he didn't honestly think his parents had a lot of justification to feel so put upon. He knew enough to know, they had actually volunteered for the whole Assassin business. He thought back to his father's email, when it turned out the Templars were going to get to him.
"You didn't ask for any of this."
But, I still did it, didn't I? he could never resist thinking. You got what you wanted, against my will, just like you expected of me from the time I was born... You claim you're different. Why can't you let me be my own man now that it's over...?
But he knew that wasn't how it worked. The idea was that kids grew up and escaped their parents' expectations. The reality was parents continued to have those expectations, and kids would have to fight them, even after they weren't kids anymore. If anyone was a testimony to that, it was William Miles.
The lights of the city faded a bit. On the outskirts – which were still bright – Desmond was attracted to the more modest and friendly-looking decorations hanging on the street lights. He smiled as he watched a little girl in a pink coat hanging what appeared to be a handmade decoration on a school crossing with her father and mother holding her up.
He'd never have admitted it to anyone but himself... although he did to Lucy, once... but part of why he came to New York was because things like that were so uncommon in such a large city that it sort of reminded him of things in what he liked to call "real life". The world was a grim place, in its simplest of appearances... but there were always little lights that guided the people who would notice them to a happier state of mind. Which, in turn, led the people to view the world in a better light. In turn, making their lives feel better.
Nothing starts until you take action... he thought. So what if that action is nothing more than catching sight of three strangers sharing a family bonding moment? No need to be picky about the things that make us feel better.
The one thing he regretted about accepting his fate as an Assassin was the actual taking of life. Not because the concept of killing was as horrifying as it sounded when it came down to it, but because working in such close synchronization with his ancestors had taught him: life was precious. And often, even those who choose to buy into the questionable things of the world were doing so because they thought it was the right thing to do. He'd probably spent more time awake wondering how or if the families of the people he'd killed would ever handle the news... Necessary, perhaps... but no less upsetting to know that any number of little girls may have been crying for who but God knew how long when they received the news: their own daddy was dead. And it was all...
...my fault, Desmond thought. He looked at his hands, and his lip quivered. I'm sorry... So, so sorry...
He was vaguely aware of his father's eyes flickering over at him every couple of seconds...
They reached the airport with some difficulty. The actual drive had turned out pretty good, traffic-wise. But once they got there, Desmond and William forgot their differences in favor of banding together with shared road rage. Or, at least, a common lack of patience for people who did things they didn't understand on the road. Desmond would often advise his own children against this, but displayed little to no self-control when it was him in the situation.
"Come on, get out of the way!" he bellowed through the windshield.
"Oh, it's no use... If they can't pull their heads out of their asses long enough to drive, they can't long enough to hear us."
At this, Desmond nodded, and sat back with his arms crossed across his chest to wait for the slow-moving traffic to file themselves into parking places. There were no senses of direction or timing anywhere he looked – it seemed like a free zone for pulling in and out whenever one wanted. Surely, there had been at least one or two fender benders there. A disadvantage of adapting some of the First Civilization's sensory attributes was in the power of the mind. He could never really escape the power of suggestion before – it certainly wasn't much better, now.
He shuddered, and tried to focus on them getting through the ordeal unscathed.
His dad seemed to think he was cold. He reached forward and flicked the heat on. Desmond smiled...
Traffic, it turned out, was the least of their problems. The actual crowd was so packed in, Desmond wondered what the difference between this airport and the primary one was. There were certainly enough people here... His mind wandered back to the Christmas decorations, and he realized that might have something to do with it. Although he couldn't, for the life of him, imagine why people would choose New York for Christmas.
"Excuse me, goddamn it," William muttered from beside Desmond.
Desmond grinned, and followed him around an older lady walking with what looked like her grandson.
Up ahead was the gate where his mother would be getting in. Desmond was not sure if the butterflies in his stomach were the result of all the people pressing in on him or the nerves of seeing his mother again. Again, he decided to go with "both".
"Excuse me, thank you, yes, excuse me, please... yes, would you move aside for a moment, thank YOU," William continued as they edged their way through group after group of people.
Desmond imagined, for a moment, what it must look like from above. It would probably be one hell of a helicopter shot for a movie. The crowds were so thick that it would impossible to distinguish gatherings of people. If this was the arrivals' section, he couldn't as easily imagine what the departure areas must look like...
"Yes, excuse me. I'm looking for flight 42A?" came his father's voice.
"Oh, certainly! It arrives in ten minutes, according to my schedule. Please, take a seat by the door. We will announce when the passengers are coming off."
Ten minutes before a flight landed seemed like cutting it close to Desmond. He'd always heard people were supposed to be hours early for a flight. It didn't seem like his dad could be any happier, though. They fought their way through the pressing crowd to their left and breathed a sigh of relief when they saw there were couple of empty chairs beside the gateway terminal.
Except for a couple of people playing around on their cell phones, there was room to breathe and a little bit of peace. Desmond was grateful for it, because his stomach was doing full-blown back flips, at that point.
He was about to see his mother.
What was she like now? What had changed? What would she think of him? What would she think of how he was dressed? Or the sound of his voice? Would she hug him? She he hug her?
Questions, questions, questions... No way to know till the plane landed.
"Son? You all right?"
Desmond looked up. His dad's face appeared to be genuine with concern. He welcomed the comforting hand on his back, even though he wasn't on the greatest of terms...
He grinned, anyway. "Yeah. Yeah, I'm just a little worried, you know, about... what she's going to think of me now."
William smiled kindly. "I bet she thinks you're perfect as you are. She didn't want to see pictures of you. She wanted to meet you in person."
Desmond didn't know if that made him feel better or worse. But he patted his dad's knee and ducked his head again, trying to block out the noise... His eyes fell on the necklace from his mom. He inhaled a deep breath and focused on its shining surface, reflecting because of the lights overhead...
"Final arrival call for flight 42A."
Desmond stuck his head up immediately. "Is that it?"
William dug in his front pocket for a piece of tightly folded up paper. His eyes scanned over it for a moment. Then a smile lit up his face. "That's her."
Desmond felt seized by an urge to run. Or climb. His line of vision quickly scanned over a potential escape route from the airport.
"Not a good plan, young man," he could almost hear Ezio saying in his kindly corrective way... Envision the smile in his eyes. "You will want to meet your mother again, Desmond. You must push through!"
Desmond folded his arms again and nodded with a smile. A smile that widened when he realized he was answering both his father and Ezio.
"Come on, son. Let's... have a family get together."
Desmond quietly thanked his ancestor for the encouragement... and felt his stomach calming down considerably as they edged their way back towards the gate and in between people. It was so much more blessing than curse, he realized... had always realized, if he was honest with himself.
"So... how do we do this?" asked William, as they reached the gate.
"What?"
"Come on, Desmond. Your call, how do we do this?"
Desmond deliberated on it. Should he meet his mom first, or wait till his parents were reunited first. It had been a long time since they'd seen each other, as well. Not ten years, but still...
And that was what he decided on. "Here," he said, and positioned his father in front of him. "You go first."
"You sure?" asked William with a smile.
"Completely. Go for it."
He stood just behind his dad, and they watched as the plane came to a halt by its unloading ramp. Desmond's Eagle Vision kicked in, and he saw her long before the others did. In blue, she jumped out at him from the sea of moving bodies. She was talking animatedly to another woman beside her. Even with the extra sense, it was hard to make her out through the metal of the plane.
But, as the minutes passed and the people began to come off, he followed her with his eyes. And just before she could become visible to him, he made the snap decision to wait to see her with his own eyes. He still caught a glimpse of her before then...
His dad was rocking on his heels. And finally, he turned to Desmond. "Please, son. Please..."
"I promise." And he intended to keep it. He fingered the necklace as the door opened...
As if the crowd couldn't get any thicker, more people came flooding out into the room. Desmond's distaste momentarily returned when he felt himself jostled and bumped in every direction by the different people juggling through. A break finally came after a large family in Hawaiian outfits spread out around Desmond and his father and then came back together on the other side of them. Like a wave or a stream parted by a rock in their way...
And that was when he saw her.